Evasion

Using the cotton covers as a shield to her torment, Leah pulled the bedding back over her face. ‘Congratulations’ banners still drooped ironically in the hall way, anniversary cake stained the walls like a crime scene murder. Upstairs, Leah hit snooze on her alarm for the fourth time, longing to stay in that period where her mind wasn’t racing with thoughts and second guessing every event from her ten year marriage. The comfort and predictability of the life she had known terminated by an act of desperation of an other. Scrutinising every memory, every intimate embrace, looking for clues, hating her own gullibility she now sees so clearly; a spotlight on every dent in her marriage; playing, rewinding, watching, pausing, playing, again and again.

The dregs of red wine smudged on the bedside table matched the mascara that had rained down Leah’s cheek in intermittent showers. Four days had passed since the revelations of Sunday, Leah had since left her bed only to use the toilet, ignoring her sister’s, Carla, unsympathetic demands to get up and showered, even for the sake of the kids. 

As the alarm went off one more time Leah heaved herself out of bed, forcing her body into action. Alcohol and emotion a lethal duo in her gut, a pitstop to vomit in the ensuite was made before continuing her way downstairs in a novelty Christmas dressing gown; a gift she’d received the year before from her Auntie McKenzie, a women so acquainted with bad taste she had it on speed dial. Taking a bottle of wine out the fridge and unscrewing the lid Leah thought how much more convenient this is than hunting around for a corkscrew. She poured herself a large glass then brought the bottle to her cracked lips, took a gulp and dribbled the Riesling down her neck, the dryness of the wine offending her tastebuds and made her face scrunch.

Leah had quit smoking 16 years ago when pregnant with her first child, had never craved it since but couldn't think of a better vice to help ease her stress. Lighting up one of her sister’s cigarettes, Leah coughed and spluttered as she inhaled the exhaust of a Marlborough Light, no longer familiar with the act of smoking she immediately stumped it out in a fractured piece of anniversary cake. 

She sat on a high stool at the breakfast bar, glass of wine waiting impatiently in front of her. A drawing of her, her husband Troy, daughter Jessica and son William, who had created the scribble family as best any 5 year old could, was secured to the fridge by an ‘I love Corfu Magnet.’ That’s when it hit; the second punch in the gut; the pain of what he’d done; when the tears started and couldn’t stop; and when the only sound she could make was a howl. 

Trembling with anger for herself and her children for the drawing now represents the past, not the present, not the future. Leah picked up the photo album that had been left for her, the truth bomb to her life, opened it and tour savagely at the pages, ripping the infidelity out of each picture.

‘Bastard’ she said, ‘BASTARD,’ louder. A scream, ‘BASTARDS.’

---- 

## The Sunday Before.

Kyle’s actions were out of character but not impulsive. They were a result of undelivered promises and a refusal to be the secret after four years of unwillingly keeping his relationship in the closet. Troy paid for the rent on the apartment Kyle lived in; a city centre loft with high ceilings, bare brick, stylish, minimal; a showroom, not a home, it looked out over Sackville Garden’s and the monument of Alan Turning.  Troy couldn’t take the risk of being spotted sneaking around in Kyle’s uni digs, the rumours could kill his career. 

Troy, Kyle’s tutor, had caught Kyle’s eye during a lecture on the differences between the screen and stage adaptations of Shelagh Delaney’s _A Taste of Honey_ at the University of Salford. Troy’s confidence had cast a spell over Kyle who was soon infatuated with him, Troy’s cheeky smile made him approachable, it masked his arrogance borne from his belief his education made him superior to others. 

At the end of the first term it was tradition to tutors and students to have a blow out at The Old Pint Pot, a sticky carpeted student den which sold cheap cider and hosted local unsigned bands who had varying degrees of talent. Informal meetings were discouraged between students and teachers in other education departments but were common practice in the Media and Arts. The pub sat on Chapel Street, the main road out of Manchester to Salford, divided the campus; on the left the traditional courses and to the right the contemporary. This was the night Troy and Kyle first got together. What had started as a dissection of Brenda Blethyn’s Mari Hoff in Little Voice turned to more flirtatious talk; boundaries dared to be pushed as more Strongbow was consumed. There was a danger in Troy’s eye that excited Kyle, who was ten years Troy’s junior. Kyle was Troy’s opposite; unsure of himself, socially awkward and eager to be liked but unlike Troy he was ‘out’. Standing shorter than Troy, Kyle stood, inferior, in the shade of Troy’s shadow in every way. The air in The Old Pint Pot was damp with sweat from students dancing to a questionable version of Oasis’s Roll With It, not a song Kyle would ever voluntary listen to, preferring the sound track of Eurovision hits. Troy and Kyle made their way outside.

‘Get an Uber,’ Troy ordered.

‘I’ll just walk, I’m only ten minutes away through Peel Park,’ Kyle spoke in a haze of alcohol and fresh air.

‘There’s a black cab, come on.’ Troy thumbed down the cab and opened the door for Kyle to get. Troy looked around, no one was there, he jumped in the cab and closed the door. Kyle stunned, smiled. The short cab ride was in silence but the explosion of chemistry was deafening. Stumbling through the student quarter whilst trying to hold in their laughter, they found their way to Kyle’s single room. Kyle closed the door & went to pour vodka which was contained in a bottle next to several empty dirty glasses on the grey worn carpet in the corner of the tiny room. He felt Troy’s arm around his waist and his hand on his chest pulling him back into Troy. Troy breathed on Kyle’s neck electrifying his body as the current pulsed through. 

Kyle had no idea then that Troy was married and had kids. It was months later after many nights like this, though skipping the introduction in the pub, that he learnt about Leah, Jessica and William, but it was too late by then; love had taken control. Troy didn’t offer this information, Kyle found a picture of a happy family in Troy’s wallet when he picked it up from the floor after another secret night together. Confronted, Troy told Kyle of his suburban life and made no promise to give it up, not at this stage. Four years had passed since and so had dozens of promises from Troy that he’d leave his wide. For Kyle it was love, for Troy; the one night stand he couldn’t give up. 

Kyle stood at the kitchen counter, destroyed, he knew there was no going back from what he’d done. He’d gone through the morning as if captured in a trance, prisoned by jealousy, yearning and desperation. He shared Troy for four years and couldn’t any longer, his patience and understanding had been spent. Kyle had no hangups about his sexuality, he’d never had to hide it and was accepted by his mum and dad when he’d told them when he was 16. His dad had told him, ‘You’re our son, it makes no difference,’ and had held him close. His mum had taken a little longer to come round but now used him as a gay trophy and boasted to her friends and colleagues how she was a member of FFLAG, Family and Friends of Lesbian and Gays. He’d never felt shame for who he was, not until well into his relationship with Troy. Troy had to keep the relationship hidden, keep Kyle hidden, he had too much to lose. Troy had succeeded, until now, securing Kyle away in a city centre loft for when Troy was able to sneak away and play with his toy. 

Kyle trembled as he stood. Time passed by slowly as he waited for Troy to come fighting through the door. It wasn’t going to be the union he’d wanted, he’d known that the second he walked down the drive way. 

Earlier that morning, Kyle was stood at the instant print photo machine in Tesco. He’d connected his iPhone and loaded pictures onto the screen, a memorial to his relationship appeared. Each picture a memory of a grabbed opportunity to spend time away with Troy; a selfie pulling faces on a trip to Alton Towers as they queued waiting for a ride on the Nemesis, butterflies in their stomach and excitement in their eyes; sat together at a diner table wearing Christmas jumpers, decorations illuminating the loft in seasoned spirit, taken by Mirren, Kyle’s best friend and only person to know of their secret; a country walk, arms around each other, a selfie kissing on a wooden fence of a farmers field, cows in the background minding their own business. Kyle took time to select the pictures he wanted to print, enhancing their images with the editing tool, he wanted these pictures to show the care and respect for the relationship that he had. Ten pictures illustrated their time together, enough to document their truth; it wasn’t a one off or a chanced meeting, they had grown, developed like the pictures.

Collecting them from the slot at the bottom of the machine Kyle made his way to the display of photo albums. He chose a plain black one, it would do its job. After leaving the supermarket Kyle caught the bus to the anniversary party; he wasn’t invited, but he wasn’t going in. The anxiety was sweeping over him, he pleaded with his stomach not to make him vomit. He placed the pictures inside the album and placed that inside a gift bag. He had picked up a ‘Happy Anniversary’ bag but put it back, considering that to be a too lower blow for the contents it would hold. 

Off the bus, Kyle was marching on automatic, thought process denied. If he stopped to think he would turn around and go home. Leah and Troy’s home was decorated in balloons and ribbon to mark their anniversary, a symbol of achievement and happiness but soon will stand only as a moment to time past. 

Eye’s puffed, hands shaking, Kyle punched the door to make sure he was heard over the celebrations inside. Before scurrying off down the road, himself unravelling with every step, he placed the album carefully down on the doorstep; a wrecking ball to a family.